Thankfulness
by Yva J
Summary: When Charlie is asked to write an essay about gratitude for school, he encounters a few problems. Story is set before and after his finding the Golden Ticket.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a 3-shot story, that is three postings, but no more. It takes place on three different days back in 1971 (of course). I decided that I would post the first part today and the other two parts tomorrow and Friday.

Every seven years my birthday falls on the US Thanksgiving holiday. Having grown up there, I always felt a sort of bond to that particular holiday, even though here it is not celebrated. I tend to have a little party whenever my birthday would land on it. Call me sentimental and you'd be right. So, this year, I am celebrating the day and posting a little Thanksgiving offering here.

Given the dates that this story takes place, I opted to using a general autumn vacation as observed in Europe.

Enjoy, and please review.

* * *

**Thankfulness**

By: Yva J.

Written for Thanksgiving, 2007

**Part 1**

**September 21, 1971**

"I want you to write a three page essay on what thankfulness means to you," Charlie Bucket's sixth grade English teacher instructed. It was several weeks since the summer vacation had ended and the class was now getting their first major writing assignment since school had reconvened.

Upon hearing these words, Charlie Bucket internally groaned.

As if reading her pupils' minds, Wanda Reynolds continued, her words breaking into the thoughts that seemed to be racking havoc on all their young minds. "Listen gang," she began. "I know that you hate the prospect of writing this, and it seems too philosophical, but I don't expect 'Philosophy 101' from you. I want to get an idea how you define and decipher different words and ideas. Try and come up with an idea of what it means to you."

More groans emerged, but this seemed of no consequence to the teacher. She simply rubbed her hands together. "Well, Gang, it's either a three page paper on 'thankfulness' or a five page book report on The Tale of Two Cities. It's your choice, either way, it's no skin off my nose what you choose."

Charlie was, by this time only half listening to her words. For whatever reason, she always called them 'gang' and not 'kids', 'people', or even 'students'. This somehow made him feel as though she was on the same level with them. It was ironic that the class he had once hated the most was now the one that he always looked forward to. There was no room for debate, to him; this teacher was fascinating.

Not only did she dress strangely, but she also wore large earrings and necklaces in the shape of giraffes and other wild animals, thus giving her a sort of African safari essence. Her glasses were thick-rimmed and round like laboratory goggles. The most distinctive characteristic about her was the wiry blonde hair that crowned her head. She would always wear it tied back in a rubber band, thus trying to keep it as inconspicuous as possible. Her face was smooth and she had dimples and shining blue eyes that were always concealed by the strange eyewear.

The other children talked about her, called her 'weird' and 'daffy', but Charlie thought she was the most interesting person he had met. Sure, he defended her honor on the school ground when the boys would talk cruelly about her. Sometimes he would find himself getting into trouble if the grounds monitor happened by during these sorts of confrontations. When the boys called her his girlfriend, he got defensive, after all, he was twelve and all females were considered gross.

This teacher was special; she smiled in an almost mysterious way, as though there were secrets hidden behind those strange glasses. She carried herself in an almost confident arrogance, but at the same instant, she was soft spoken and filled with a light energy that seemed almost catching. The way she interacted with the students was familiar and friendly, but also with an air of distanced coolness.

Contrary to her somewhat eccentric manner, Charlie found himself wondering about her. She had started teaching that year and the children were just getting used to her style and eccentricities. Now, she wanted an essay on 'thankfulness' as opposed to the book report, and most of his classmates took a three page writing assignment over a five page one. It looked as though he would have to do the essay. Truthfully, he hated the prospect of delving into a word that had very little to do with him or his life.

Before he could sink even further into his contemplations, the teacher's words suddenly brought him crashing back to the present.

"So, it's decided, you will write a three page essay on the topic we've discussed. It is really not all that much. Also, for the record, I have seen some of the shortcuts you have made in writing. Many of you write using large loopy letters, trying to fit only three or four words per line. This time that's not going to cut it. I want you to write at least two hundred words per page, so that's about six hundred words roughly. You can be grateful that you get a couple of days off to think about it. It will be due two weeks from today, so you don't have to worry about working during the holiday."

As these words ended the bell rang and Charlie got up and started to collect his belongings. Thankfulness? He asked himself. What in the world was there to be thankful for? His family was on the verge of poverty, his father was dead, and the only thing they could afford to eat was cabbage water.

Dejected, he started to walk towards the door; his steps slow and deliberate as the other children rushed past him in order to get out of the room.

As he walked past the teacher's desk, he stopped for a moment to see that she had dug in her purse and pulled out what looked to be a Wonka bar. His stomach unconsciously grumbled, but he said nothing, instead, he continued to make his way towards the door.

"Charlie?" Her voice emerged and he stopped and turned around.

"Yes, Mrs. Reynolds?" He spoke, his throat dry.

"Come over here for a minute," she said.

Slowly, he started to walk over to the teacher's desk, but when he reached it, she spoke. "You don't seem very happy about the assignment."

"I don't know what there is for me to write about," he said honestly. "I mean; 'thankfulness'?"

"It's a word like any other, Charlie. It's something that a lot of young people take for granted," she said. "You know sometimes writing things like this can help you to better understand your life and circumstance."

"Maybe," he said. "But, Mrs. Reynolds, sometimes I really don't want to think about my life or circumstance. I just want to think about making it from one day to the next. If you want to know the truth, I would rather write about Dickens than about my own life."

"I understand, and I know that you may find the assignment somewhat strange, but may I offer you a suggestion about it?"

"Sure," he said as he hiked the strap of his book bag further up on his shoulder and waited for her to continue.

"Write whatever is in your heart. That is the easiest way to get through an assignment that you don't necessarily like or want to undertake," she said. As she spoke, she carefully unwrapped the candy bar and started to peel back the silver paper that covered it.

Charlie watched as she did this, both of them discovering that the Golden Ticket was not present. At that moment, the boy was not quite sure if he was disappointed for her or relieved for himself.

The teacher raised her head and smiled. She seemed completely unfazed by the fact that there was no ticket beneath the wrapping paper of the candy bar. Instead, she broke the piece of chocolate in half and extended one of them to him, an impish smile on her face. "Here take it, you look like you're half starved. Can't have you passing out in Mr. Turkentine's Chemistry lesson, you might end up blowing up something."

Charlie smiled despite himself, but accepted the offered chocolate. He broke off a piece, stuck it in his mouth, and allowed it to melt on his tongue. After swallowing it, he raised his head and spoke. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, now you'd better scoot, and Charlie, something will happen that will show you that you have a reason to be thankful," she said. Her voice was the same as it had been during the lesson, etched with a small trace of arrogance.

Casually, she waved her hand and watched as he left the classroom.

Such a lovely boy, she thought a secret smile lining her face. If only her brother could meet a child like that, then he would know that there was some good left in this world.

She took a bite of the chocolate and savored it as she looked out across the empty classroom. She knew what the children often said about her, but she was unaffected by it. If they only knew who she had been prior to marrying and what her background was, then perhaps their reactions would have been different. Yet, to the teacher who carried herself somewhat overconfidently, there was something about Wanda Reynolds that none of them, whether they be colleagues or students, were even aware of.

After several minutes, she returned the uneaten portion of the chocolate to the wrapper and returned it to the side pocket of her purse.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, here it is, Thanksgiving day and time for part two. I hope you all have a good one and I will get the next part up tomorrow as promised._

_Just to answer Tinnie's question, no, I have never written Wanda as a character, but she was fun to write. I actually had a teacher when I was in school who dressed very eccentrically and she also wore all those animal necklaces and earrings. All the kids thought she was strange, I thought she was the greatest teacher in the world. I think Wanda was inspired by that lady. But, your review wasn't confusing at all, I followed everything you said. _

_YaYa, who indeed? I'm not telling, but you'll find out as we go along._

_KansReader, thanks for the review, and here's hoping you have a nice relaxing time and you enjoy the other stories. I'm honored that you want to devote some of your four day weekend to reading my stuff. Here's hoping you enjoy it._

_Enjoy and Happy Turkey Day everyone! Eat some pumpkin pie in my honor, it's one thing I sorely miss during this time of year. _

_Cheers!_

* * *

**Part 2**

**October 4, 1971**

So much had happened since he had been assigned to write an essay for his English class. Charlie had come very close to forgetting that the following day was when he was supposed to have something written to turn in. Given the sheer immensity of the past few days, he had not yet been able to write much of anything. In fact, he could not even begin to get his thoughts straight.

The worst thing was everyone knew who he was and what had happened to him and his family on October 1. There was no denying that his life had gone from mediocre to exciting in the blink of an eye. Yet with all these changes, Charlie wanted to stay the same person that he had always been. Why change for the sake of it? After all, Willy Wonka had chosen him as he was and that seemed good enough for him.

His teacher had predicted accurately that things would change, and yet she had no idea to what extent she had been right.

Now, as he sat on the floor in the Chocolate Room, he could do nothing except stare down at the blank page on his lap, as well as the dozen or so wadded up pieces of paper that were scattered all around him. It was no secret that the boy was at a loss as to what he should write.

He knew he had won something monumental when Willy Wonka had given him the factory, and yet, these words simply would not come.

He was happy for the first time in years, but he could not verbalize that sense of joy. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. It was no secret that he was now able to get his work done for school without having to use the nighttime hours to haphazardly toss something together. He no longer had to maintain the paper route, and this alone felt strange and different to him.

Sighing, he covered his face with his hands and began to rub it. How could he write a paper on 'thankfulness' without sounding like he was bragging about his good fortune? They all knew what had happened to him, the media made certain of that. Yet, in the depths of his conscience, he had been lucky, nothing more, and yet, there was something very special about this brand of luck.

"Are you starting a paper drive, per chance?" A voice emerged from behind him and he turned around to see Willy Wonka walking down the candy path in the direction of where he was sitting next to the chocolate river. The chocolatier was dressed in what Charlie had loosely described as the typical Wonka style. Today the man was dressed in shades of purples and reds, his caramel colored top hat was covering the masses of curls that domed his head, and a cane was swinging about casually in his hand.

"I'll clean it up," he began to speak, all the while hoping that the chocolatier would not scold him for making a mess of the room. Instead of speaking further, he bit down on the pen he was holding, his teeth leaving a mark on the lid that was stuck at the top of the small plastic object.

"You know, there are all different kinds of eatable things in here, and you choose a pen?" Willy asked, a smirk crossing his face.

"I guess it's habit," Charlie mused, his gaze still on the paper. It somehow felt whiter than the confines of the Wonkavision room. He bit down on his lip as Willy removed his hat and sat down beside him. Once he had deposited the cane, he regarded the boy.

"Charlie, what's on your mind?" He eventually asked.

"It's nothing, it's just that I have to write this paper for school," he began.

"I see," he said. "Is that why you look so upset?"

"It's due tomorrow and I haven't even started yet," he confessed.

"Waiting till the last minute," Willy mused. "Sounds familiar to me."

"No, it's not that," Charlie said. "I have to write about 'thankfulness' and it's this weird assignment my English teacher gave us. I want it to be good, but when I tried writing it before the tour, and I couldn't think of anything that I was thankful for."

"What about since the tour?"

"I guess, but is it possible to have writer's block without even having written a single word?" He asked.

"Of course it is; I get blocked all the time. Generally, when it happens, I go and do something else and then come back to it later," Willy said. "But, it looks to me like you aren't blocked at all, you just haven't managed to get your thoughts straight."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

Instead of responding, he motioned around the room where the wadded up papers were scattered. He then reached over and picked the one up that was nearest to his feet. He unfolded it and began to read aloud. "Two weeks ago, I was told to write this essay and since then I realized that I couldn't do it. When I tried to do it a week ago, I couldn't think of one single thing to write. What did I have to be thankful for? I really didn't know. Today, I think I do…"

The words stopped and Willy raised his head. "Why did you stop here?"

"I don't know," Charlie said.

"Yes you do," the chocolatier said confidently. "Tell me what it is you really wanted to say."

"I don't know, I mean, I do, but…" Charlie's voice trailed.

"…You have to learn how to formulate the words you want to say or write," Willy said. "In your mind you know what you feel as well as what you anticipate, but it's trying to get it from your mind to your words that is difficult." As he spoke these words, he pointed an index finger at Charlie's head, and then moved it to point to his mouth.

"Mr. Wonka, this is hard," Charlie said.

"I know, but just try and make a list of what it is you are thankful for."

"I guess I'm thankful for you," Charlie admitted.

"For me?"

"Yeah, you became my friend and you're helping my family," Charlie said but looked shyly down at his lap.

"Then write that," Willy said.

"But it seems almost arrogant for me to do that," the boy objected.

"Then be a little arrogant," Willy said with a smirk.

When the boy looked at him somewhat shocked, the chocolatier's expression softened. "Look, Charlie, gratitude is not born of arrogance, it is the direct opposite of it. If you were to walk through the streets of town boasting your fortune, then people would say you are conceited. That is not the person that I asked to come and live here. I would be deeply saddened if you were to lose that part of your humility. You see, my boy, it was that, which made me realize how special you are in the first place. Do you at least see the difference?"

Charlie shook his head but started to chew on the end of his pen once again.

Without hesitating, Willy reached over and grabbed one of the candy canes that were hanging from a nearby tree. This he handed to Charlie. "If you're going to eat something, let it, at least be something that tastes good."

The boy smiled weakly but accepted the candy and started to nibble on it. The pen, much to Willy's relief, was cast to one side.

For his part, Willy reached for a second piece of paper and unfolded it. "What is thankfulness?" He read aloud, and then wadded that attempt up and tossed it aside.

"You see, that's as far as I could get," the boy muttered.

Willy took a deep breath. "How would it be if you tried a different tactic? Don't try and simply define the word, rise above, and elaborate on it."

"What do you mean?"

"Try to approach this from another point of view," Willy suggested. He brought his hand to his mouth as though in apt contemplation. After several minutes he smiled as his next words filled the chocolate room. "Cicero once said: 'Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others'."

Charlie reached for his pen and began to scribble the quotation onto a piece of notebook paper. "Can I use that?" He asked once he had managed to write it down.

"It's not mine to use, but I'm sure Cicero won't mind," he smiled impishly. "Try going from there."

"How?" Charlie asked.

"I'm not sure, perhaps my sister is better qualified for this than me. She has a way with words that would simply astound you," he said.

"You have a sister?" Charlie asked. "What's she like?"

"On the surface she has the same color hair and eyes as me," he said. "She's several years older than me, but she's actually the one who got me interested in books and literature."

"All those quotations you cited on the tour, they were from her?" Charlie asked.

Willy nodded. "Yes, they came from her. She would spout them off to me when I was a boy and I just happened to remember everything that I had read."

"That's amazing," Charlie said. "You have a photographic memory or something."

"Not really, I just remember what I like," he said. "It helps when I make candy, too. But that's a digression for another day. We should get you back on track so that your English teacher won't be mad at me for keeping you from your assigned task."

"I still don't know what to write," he said.

"Well, Charlie, I should leave you to try and figure that one out. You know I cannot very well write it for you. That would be unfair, especially since I know that you can do it on your own." The candy maker started to stand up. "Don't force yourself to do it too quickly, Charlie, just write from the heart."

Before Charlie could respond to these words, Willy had walked away.

Sighing deeply, Charlie put the candy aside and began to write.

Both Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Wonka had said 'write from the heart'. Perhaps what he was feeling was going to be good enough for an English teacher who seemed to be playing by a different set of rules than he was accustomed.

Looking down at the scribbled quotation, he smiled. Perhaps this was how he would be able to work through this after all.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here's the third and final part of this story. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to Tinnie and KansReader for the thoughtful reviews. Here's hoping that you all enjoy the last chapter. Have a great weekend, and my thanks to you all for reading._

_Enjoy, and please review. _

_Thanks to KansReader for catching the mistaken word. It's been changed in my file but also here. Since your PM feature is disabled, I'm posting this here, I actually put word in part 1 because Charlie would be delving into a word, not a world. That was intentionally written in that way. Otherwise, some of the suggestions have been fixed. _

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**Part 3**

**October 5, 1971**

"Alright everyone, today, your papers are due," Mrs. Reynolds said as Charlie and his classmates came into the room for their English lesson. "Before you pass them in, I would like to have someone read their paper for the class." Her gaze drifted across the room until she was left looking at Charlie who was trying to appear as small as he could.

"Charlie, how would it be if you read your essay aloud to all of us?" She asked.

"Here?" The boy stammered.

"Come on, Bucket, since you got to move to the factory, you should have lots to be grateful for," one of the boys said.

"Yeah," another kid piped up. "You could probably give us an hour's worth."

The other children seemed to agree and Charlie could hear the chimes of 'yeah' and 'read it' now filtering throughout the room.

Looking for a way out was out of the question. Charlie was trapped and he knew that he would have no choice but to stand up in front of the class and read his essay.

He picked up the three sheets of paper and strode to the front of the classroom. Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the sea of faces before he began to read:

-----

_Cicero once said: 'Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others'. It is perhaps strange, but I never really thought very much about the topic of thankfulness until the day we were assigned to write essays about it._

_I can openly say that since getting this particular assignment, I have pondered what the word even means. I wondered if I had anything to be thankful for and I guess I didn't know for sure. I mean; saying I was grateful was more like asking for a miracle amidst all the sadness._

_It was also something that I thought I couldn't do. Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself, but I had very little to be thankful for._

_Today, I know I was wrong. I have more to be grateful for than I could even imagine. I have a wonderful mother who has sacrificed everything so that my grandparents and I were safe and had a roof over our heads. I think that it was only after something good happened that I was able to see it._

_I will openly admit that two weeks ago my feelings were really different than they are now. When we were asked to write about this topic, I felt really uncomfortable and constantly asked myself what I could be grateful for. My father died last year, my mother worked so much that I rarely saw her, and my grandparents were all confined to their beds since before I was born._

_I was not seeing the blessings that I had until my life suddenly changed for the better. It was through the simple miracle of finding the fifth Golden Ticket. Through it, I not only got to see a place that was the most wonderful place in the whole world, but I also found a friend in Willy Wonka. I mean; he talks to me like I am an equal even though I'm just a kid. It's really a great feeling when a grown up does that._

_The strangest thing is if I had not have found that money on the street and bought that Wonka bar, I would probably not have discovered the root of my gratitude. Maybe the factory is a wonderful dream come true, and I am the luckiest kid in the world, but to write about that felt as though I was behaving in a conceited way. Today, just before I started writing this down, I told Mr. Wonka that I was scared of being judged for what I wrote here. He said that if I am writing about gratitude then it is not born out of arrogance, that this was the opposite of it._

_That made a lot of sense to me. So I spent most of the afternoon and evening trying to figure out exactly what he meant. As I worked on this paper, I came to discover that two different people advised me to write from the heart. I was sort of hoping that they would help me figure out what it was I wanted to write, but they didn't. I know that I didn't want them to write my essay for me, but I needed their help to figure it out._

_So that's what I did. For the longest time, I pondered if I would actually be able to speak of my gratitude without sounding overconfident or boastful. I guess it is not always the bad things that make us realize the source of our gratitude, but also the really good things._

_As I was being led through Mr. Wonka's factory with the other Golden Ticket winners on October first, I would stop and think about this assignment. Today, as I sit in this magical room trying to compose this essay, I am reminded of what happened and how thankful I am for everything._

-----

As he lowered the paper, the children began to applaud and he smiled as he handed the teacher the pages and returned to his desk.

"That was lovely, Charlie," the teacher said. "Madeline, why don't you read yours?"

The brown-headed girl shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?" Mrs. Reynolds asked.

"It's not as good," she said and briefly looked at Charlie.

The boy smiled weakly. "Did it come from your heart?" He asked simply.

"Yeah," she said.

"Then read it," he said smiling.

He watched as Madeline reluctantly got to her feet, went to the front of the classroom, and started to read.

* * *

When the bell rang about half an hour later, Charlie got to his feet and started to follow the other kids out of the classroom. 

"Charlie," Mrs. Reynolds called out to him and he stopped and turned around.

As soon as he had walked over to the desk, he could see that his teacher was smiling proudly at him. "You did very well with your reading. Your essay will probably get very high marks. Of course, I do have to check for grammar and spelling on the written part."

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't really expect you to ask me to read it aloud, though. I mean; I'm really glad I wrote it, but I was wondering the whole time if I was doing it right."

"Oh it was right," she smiled. "But you know that reading it aloud affirmed or solidified it for you. There's something in doing that that makes it more meaningful and special to the person who wrote it."

"When the others started applauding, I was really surprised," he confessed.

"Yes, and as a wise man once said, there will always be little surprises around every corner, but nothing dangerous," she smiled her eyes twinkling. "In other words, the fruit will always be kept in the cafeteria."

Charlie looked at the teacher. He had heard those words before, about the surprises and the corners. Without warning, his jaw suddenly dropped as the truth washed over him. "You…"

"…Me?" She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling.

"You're Mr. Wonka's sister," he said, his face suddenly breaking into a broad grin. "I should have put two and two together. I mean; you look just like him."

"No, he looks like me, I'm older," she smiled. "But, yes you're right, I think the unmanageable hair gave it away. That's a pretty consistent trait in our family."

The boy smiled. "This is so hard to believe."

"Perhaps, but, Charlie, you won't tell the others, will you?"

"No, because I think you're a great teacher, and I wouldn't want you to leave if too many people knew," he said. "But, how did you end up here?"

"My husband, Mark, and I moved back into town several months ago. We figured that since I was no longer Wanda Wonka and now Wanda Reynolds, I could take a job in my hometown doing what I love without all the hoopla. I applied for the job of English teacher during the summer, just before my crazy brother went and sent out those Golden Tickets," she said. "You see, Charlie, I love Willy dearly, and I'm very thankful for him, but I'm not defined by him anymore than he is defined by me. I simply want to live my life low profile, teaching kids like you about the beauty and wonder of language."

"Yesterday when we were talking, Mr. Wonka said that he got his love of literature from you," Charlie said smiling.

"Somehow I could tell," she said smiling. "Cicero sort of gave that away. Willy's always citing literature and using foreign languages. He has a depth in him that adds to his abilities to create joy. He has shared that with you when he gave you some suggestions for your paper."

"Yeah," Charlie said.

"I know that you're going to follow in my brother's footsteps and do very well for yourself," she said.

"How can you be sure?" He asked.

"Because, you walk through your life with a thankful heart, and loving spirit," she said as she pointed down at the papers that were on her desk. "I also noticed that when you were reading your essay, but it happened again when you encouraged Madeline to read hers."

Charlie looked at the stack of papers that now lined the teacher's desk.

For her part, Wanda Reynolds reached into the side pocket of her bag and pulled out a Wonka bar and began to unwrap it. As soon as she had finished, she extended a piece of it to him, which he accepted.

Together, the student and his teacher enjoyed the chocolate.

The End.


End file.
